


Turn Me Around and Lock Me Up

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [20]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Dominance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink, Pain, Rope Bondage, Sex, Sexual Content, Some Humor, Submission, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He surfaced slowly, realizing belatedly that he had tears on his cheeks and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He opened his mouth with a hard <em> pop, </em> detaching his tongue from his palate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Me Around and Lock Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for panic attacks, emotional abuse, racist bullshit, parents acting like horrible cunts, and sex.
> 
> Aka my home life haha yeah
> 
> ALSO this entire series lets everyone know way too much about my personal kinks but hey what are you gonna do

“Hey hey. _Louis hey!_ C’mere, for real. Jesus, come on!”

Louis surfaced slowly from underneath a heavy sheen of panic and—and heavy breathing, and abject anxiety. He was on the floor of his room, curled in a fetal ball and sweating like he had lost one-stone in water-weight.

He surfaced slowly, realizing belatedly that he had tears on his cheeks and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He opened his mouth with a hard _pop,_ detaching his tongue from his palate.

Zayn had his hands around Louis’ jaw, palms pressed in tight and rough. “Okay, okay, it’s fine, mate, it’s good. You’re not—you’re all right.”

Louis took a breath against the panic that still sat heavy in his chest, pressing against his sternum and ribcage. “What?” he croaked unevenly, blinking with gritty eyelids.

“I think you had a panic attack, babe.”

“I did.”

“Betting so.”

“And you,” Louis began before his voice caught in the back of his throat. “You’re?”

“Here.” Zayn thumbed against Louis’ jaw, rubbing gently. “I’m here.”

Louis hummed, his heartbeat speeding and slowing abruptly in his chest. “Where is here and what is you are—me,” he stuttered out, closing his eyes. “Sensical.”

“No. You’re not.”

“Sorry. I’m fine.” He rubbed his face. “That was different.”

“That was scary, is what it was.”

“Panic attack?”

“Yeah, I get them. I know what they’re like.”

“Break from the monotony at least.”

“The monotony? Your attitude could use some work.”

“Yeah, thus the panic attacks. Looks like I might need my meds fiddled again. Christ.”

“Another day, another crock of shit,” Zayn agreed.

“Why are you being nice to me? Hoping to woo me, or something? Exact your revenge very gracelessly? Love ‘em and leave ‘em so I know how it feels?”

“Can’t have your blood on my hands. I thought you were going to swallow your tongue.”

Louis blinked and peered at Zayn through narrowed eyes. Zayn, who was hovering above him, not quite straddling his hips. Zayn, who was giving him undivided and worried attention.

“I’m fine.” And Louis _was_ fine. Of course he was. He attended classes and kissed beautiful boys and he made friends and everything—everything was fine.

He was unsure if his own mother could name his favourite colour, was unsure that his stepfather wouldn’t someday kill him in his sleep—but he was absolutely fine, just like this. With Zayn leaning over him and air coming easier into his lungs, he was definitely fine.

“You’re n—”

“I’m fine.”

***  
Zayn left as he always did (always the back way like a thief, Louis thought), and Louis trailed his way down toward the kitchen, to toast some bread or maybe make himself a real breakfast. Maybe something like eggs or porridge.

But Louis’ stepfather intercepted him, rare on his part. He handed Louis a butter knife, interacting with him as though everything were normal and _maybe even good._ Louis grimaced, but he took the utensil.

“Why?” he asked quietly before biting his lip.

“Lou, you know.”

“What do I know?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“What is it that I’m doing now?”

His stepfather grimaced slowly. “You’re halfway toward fucking everything up, lad.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He licked his lips, considering Louis sternly. “I don’t—well. Where did I go wrong with you?”

“Not sure, to be honest,” Louis said without pause. “You feel like giving it a guess? Or shall I?”

His stepfather crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his gaze. “Go on then. Impress me.”

“I get away with whatever I want and I hate myself too much to even know how to put in real effort anymore. I’m just a useless consumer, taking up the world’s resources while waiting for my inevitable death at my own hand. I drink you out of house and home but present a _pretty enough_ face that you can pretend to be proud of me. The real reason you haven’t shipped me away is because that didn’t work last time, plus at least this way you can have these little come-to-Jesus talks with me when I fuck up too big.”

Louis’ stepdad gritted his jaw, looking away. “You’re a slut too.”

Louis’ breathed seized despite himself. He was pinned, yet he continued, “Oh that’s right. A lazy good-for-nothing cocksucker. Thanks for rounding that out.”

“You need to go to school this week. No excuses permitted anymore. It’s time to quit faffing about.”

“Need to get my act together if I’m to take over your company, innit?”

“Your sister will be the one to take over my company if she wants it. Not you.”

Louis snorted, throat raw with the desire to scream. “No reason for you not to kill me straight off then. Make it look like an accident.”

“Don’t be daft, Lou, honestly,” his stepdad said, heaving out a sigh. “You never gave me the impression you were remotely interested in the company, while Charlotte has an internship planned for this upcoming summer. You knew that.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re being unnecessarily dramatic, all right. I was simply going to ask if you and—this boy, what’s his name? The Pakistani one.”

“Zayn.”

“Sure, him. Are you two exclusive?”

“Actually? Actually, I think this conversation is over.”

“Your mother wants to know.”

“Then she can bloody well ask me herself. What, is she hoping for a caramel-coloured little angel of a grandbaby? Raised out of wedlock by two disaffected youths on money earned by supplying the world with more military-grade weapons?”

 _“That’s_ what his family does. I knew I’d seen him at the Waterstone benefit.”

“That’s your only reaction,” Louis breathed. “Okay. I’m done, then.” He dropped his toast and pushed back his chair, knowing someone else would clean up his plate. As he neared the doorway, his stepfather cleared his throat.

“If you don’t treat other people with respect, no one’s going to be willing to respect you.”

“I’m not looking for you to respect me,” Louis murmured. “Just liking me would be enough.”

***  
Louis sat in the school carpark for twenty minutes, trying to psych himself up to leave the warm confines of his vehicle. His breathing was shallow, his heart pounding. He scratched at his neck and tried to focus on the song leaking quietly through his stereo speakers.

Then he pulled a pill from his left-side trouser pocket, swallowing it dry.

 _Out on the roof, waiting for love. Turn me around and lock me up,_ he sang inside his head.

He shut the car off and considered himself a part of the walking wounded.

***  
 _stop feeling so sorry for yourself, there’s nothing really wrong_

Louis breathed deeply and regularly through his first class, noticing that he garnered the attention of his fellow classmates as he did. He quieted down when one girl gave him a concerned glance.

 _half the things I do are emotional self-harm,_ he reminded himself. _If not more._

He took a deep breath. _it’s probably a chemical imbalance,_ he reasoned inside his own mind. _deep down at the core, maybe that’s all it is._

Even in his mind, Louis wasn’t very good at lying.

***

“Why are you so dead-set on believing you’re a terrible person?” Liam whispered, cornering Louis in the doorway to the men’s toilet at school.

And Louis probably needed to stop getting yanked into toilets by pillow-lipped beauties. 

 

Or he needed to do it more often, he was unsure which was the wiser tactic. All he knew was that he wanted to fuck Liam immediately, consequences damned. Always damned.

He took a breath. Questioning his own sanity, he stepped further into the washroom.

“Look at the devastation I leave in my wake,” Louis countered, taking in Liam’s sunken expression and deadened eyes. He waved. “Case in point.”

“You didn’t devastate me, Lou. Pretty sure that was the constant physical abuse and ritual psychological torture of dad. Family’s so much fun,” Liam quipped, eyes gone dark.

“I—” Louis gaped, brows knitted together. “How are you even able to joke about that?”

“Because I have to.”

Louis shook his head, mystified. “But you’re so—good, and sweet, and normal. And I’m just here, constantly hurting you. Hurting you even more.”

Liam snorted. “Normal? Babe, your version of—everything is so bleeding skewed, you would not believe. M’not normal. Not even close.” He considered his statement. “At most, I’m—boring. Shut up inside myself. Bland.”

Louis’ lips pinched up at this and he slammed his body into Liam’s, running them both into the row of sinks by the door. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered against Liam’s lips, hot and breathy. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself. Not ever.”

“Why not?” Liam asked, daring and angry. “You do it to yourself. All the time. All the damn time.”

“Yeah, and I want to fucking die every day. I don’t want that for you. You deserve better.”

“Don’t _you?”_

“I—uh, I clearly don’t.” Louis backed away and threw his hands up in a futile gesture. “Because where is it, then.”

“The universe doesn’t provide things we don’t fight for.”

Louis looked up at Liam and bit down hard on his own tongue. Liam’s jaw looked like maybe it could cut Louis’ skin, and he liked that idea. He liked the idea of getting hurt by something beautiful—liked the idea of walking away damaged.

“You’re better off.”

“Am I?” Liam asked in a broken-off voice, words crackling terribly. His eyes filled slowly. “Am I really?”

“You look—” Louis began, tone soft. “You look.”

“Yeah? How do I look. Enlighten me, please,” he added, his voice actually gone jagged with a plea Louis felt deep into his bones.

“Like I made a mistake. I—need to leave now. Excuse me.”

He shouldered away from Liam and banged out of the toilets, jaw set and lips thin. His eyes were wet.

***  
Louis’ mother slammed her way loudly into his room later that day, disturbing his nap and sending him reeling. “What?” he crowed, flailing. “Mum? Can you—be quieter, please?”

“You’ve been asleep all fucking morning and half afternoon, Lou, why the hell should I do anything nice for you?”

Louis blinked rapidly, swallowing down the bile in his throat.

“I’m sorry, that was mean. What I meant to say was, please join us for dinner for once in your life.”

He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s not a request, by the way. Food’s on in twenty.”

“What did I do?” he asked quietly, plaintively.

“Just get up.”

“Have I gone full-tilt crazy?” he called as she stalked out of his room. “What’s going on?”

“Family supper!” she yelled back from just outside his doorway, anger bright and open in her voice.

“Who’s pregnant?”

“You!”

He scrambled out of bed, following her in just his joggers and a thin t-shirt. “What’s that mean?”

She stopped at the top of the staircase, rounding on him. “A boyfriend, Louis, honestly, and you didn’t even think to bring him round? Like you’re shamed of us, I can’t—it’s just—my god, what must I have done!” She took a fortifying breath. “I’m a terrible mother. I am. I need to go back and redo all of your childhood and do it right this time around, I swear I do.”

“Mum, it’s not—no, that’s not—I.” He faltered. “That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s nothing. We’re—not. We’re not. It’s not like that. We’re just not.” His brain stuttered at who she could possibly be talking about in his myriad string of fuck-fests and boytoys. He was unsure whether he should feel guilty about that.

But then he couldn’t muster up the energy.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked quietly.

“Mum, you’ve known I’m gay since, like—what, it’s been years.”

“Not that part, Lou. That’s not what hurts me.” Her face scrunched up and her chest heaved. “Are you ashamed?”

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t think that.”

“Do you know that we love you?”

 _I know that you think you do._ “Yes.”

“And we accept you?”

 _Mum, oh mum, you think you do._ “Yeah.”

And leave it to his mother to have a fucking snit-fit over the fact that he hadn’t invited his not-boyfriend and sort-of fuckbuddy over to dinner. Leave it to his mother to be _offended_ over the notion. Leave it to his mother to assume that one of his most private parts of himself was, in fact, about her.

He was simply a tool in others’ arsenals, and he was surprised so few people had pointed it out.  
***

 _come over_ he sent to Zayn’s mobile unashamedly and unabashedly later that night. He was no stranger to fulfilling his own desires, provided they were sexual.

_What’s up?_

_shit I DUNNO I’ll ride you fuckwit just come over_

_grabby aren’t we? You’re being quite demanding_

_I apologize endlessly. If you get here in twenty I’ll let you tie me up._

_you’ll let me do it anyway_

_fuck off and drive z_

_I’ll have you trussed up in ten_

***  
Zayn snuck in without Louis’ mother noticing or seeing or even fucking _caring._ And Louis supposed that was his life. She made a show of caring only when it was important to her.

Louis locked the door after Zayn entered his room, peering questioningly at the bag Zayn dropped at his feet. “Well, it doesn’t look like it’s moving, so it’s not a sack of abandoned kittens.”

“Correct. Venture another guess,” Zayn agreed as he shucked off his leather jacket and dropped it on the floor. Then he picked the back bag up and set in on Louis’ bed.

“So you keep an attaché case of rope, cuffs, and—what, whips? In the boot of your car?” Louis asked without venturing further.

“It’s a fucking duffle, you posh twat. And I can’t exactly keep it in my house, I have three nosey sisters and nowhere to hide it.”

Louis rolled his eyes as Zayn unzipped the bag. “Let’s have it then. Pink fluffy cuffs or bust.” Zayn shot him a withering glance. “Candy ball gag?”

“Your browser history must be terrifying.”

He shrugged. “I know what I like.”

“You’re a child with unnecessary access to porn and money. You’re a bloody menace.”

Louis laughed, yanking the bag away from Zayn. “You’re just cross you know what I like too.”

Zayn growled and gave him a dark glare, effectively shutting him up. 

Within twenty minutes, Louis found himself sprawled out, bound and spread-eagle across his mattress, Zayn looking down at him with an intentional glint in his eye. Louis shuffled quietly, testing the bindings on his wrists and ankles. He was shirtless, splayed out in just his boxer-briefs.

“You’re a lot easier to deal with when you’re tied down,” Zayn pointed out.

“Yeah, well, my life is better when I let hot guys pin me down.”

“Hush. My life is better when you shut the fuck up.”

“Um, hey. Don’t gag me this time, it’s too hard to breathe.”

“You promise to stay quiet?”

“I promise.” 

Because, the thing is, Louis gave up long ago. He was fierce until the end, and then suddenly he wasn’t.

Wasn’t noisy, wasn’t brash. Wasn’t much of anything.

“I only want you talking if you need me to stop,” Zayn demanded.

“Red yellow green?”

“Sure.” He moved down to straddle Louis’ shins, licking his own lips.

“Is this going to hurt?”

“Yeah. It’s going to hurt.”

“Okay.” Louis nodded. “Go.”

Zayn ducked down and pressed his lips onto one of Louis’ thighs, kissing it softly. Then he opened his mouth and bit down _hard_ on the inner part of his leg. Louis whined quietly, his eyes fluttering closed.

Zayn’s jaw clenched harder, mouth open wide; he wasn’t sucking in a hickey so much as clamping down on the flesh of Louis’ thigh. Louis could feel the indentation of his teeth, feel the grating of his jaw as he opened his mouth wider.

After a few moments, Zayn pulled back with a sloppy, wet sound, prodding the forming bruise with one finger. He moved to Louis’ other leg and nuzzled his face in before giving his left thigh the same treatment.

Louis arched his back, straining slightly against the ropes binding his arms. He gasped at the pain coursing through the flesh of his leg. He settled back down against the mattress and opened his eyes to watch what Zayn was doing.

Spit-slick, his own skin was turning red as he gazed at it. He wondered if Zayn had somehow unhinged his jaw—the forming bruise was large and deep. It was _huge._

Zayn looked up at him, and he nodded once, sharply. Shrugging, Zayn raised himself forward up Louis’ body and attached his lips to the side of Louis’ hip, clenching his teeth hard around the section of skin he was biting.

Louis gasped, arching up again, his mouth falling open wide. “Ow,” he muttered involuntarily, muscles in his legs and arms straining.

Zayn slapped him—cracked an open palm against Louis’ chest, silencing him. Then he bit down on Louis’ abdomen, near the juncture of his pelvis. Louis swallowed down a groan and bucked upward into Zayn’s sharp, dangerous mouth.

He felt bruises forming everywhere, the smallest one at least as large as an apple.

He had never considered that he might like this, but something about it was certainly working—given how hard his dick was straining against the fabric of his briefs. Previously he had done the tying-up and been tied up and—and that was a solid way to get him hot.

But this was novel.

And it fucking _hurt._

And he was tenting out despite himself, despite never having considered whether he might enjoy this. He presumed that maybe Zayn knew things about him that even he didn’t know himself—or Zayn was too selfish to care.

Either way, he was trying to rut up against Zayn, trying to gain friction or traction, every time Zayn bit down, pressing in with his tongue and teeth, sending cracking sensations through Louis’ skin.

He lost count of how many bruises Zayn marked into his skin, lost track of how many mottled purpling welts were marring his body.

Zayn backed off for a minute, giving Louis time to catch his breath. He heard Zayn shuffle through the nightstand door. Then he gasped as Zayn untucked Louis from his boxer-briefs, the cold air both shocking and _delighting_ him.

Louis looked down and saw that Zayn was unclothed and flushed all-over, glassy-eyed and raw. “Fuck,” Louis whispered, pain radiating through his limbs and trunk.

“Shut up.” Zayn slapped him lightly on the sternum, making Louis hiss. Then he opened the bottle of lube he had snaked out of Louis’ nightstand. Putting a liberal amount onto his palm, he cupped one hand around his own and Louis’ cocks. He jacked sharply in quick upward motions, and _finally_ getting a hand on his dick makes Louis whimper.

Smiling wolfishly downward at Louis, he attached his mouth once again to Louis’ skin. Again, he bit down, pressing his teeth in harsh and jagged.

Louis bucked again beneath Zayn’s hand and teeth, straining against his bindings without real effort. Heat began curling in his stomach as Zayn continued to stroke, the slick feeling giving him ever-building pleasure.

Zayn released his mouth from Louis’ skin for a moment, only to whisper, “I can feel blood vessels popping every time I sink my teeth in.” Then he reapplied pressure, biting down in the same spit-wet spot he had just released.

Louis keened, head tipping back against the pillow beneath him. Unable to writhe, he merely groaned, deep in his throat, careful not to make much noise. Heat built up inside his throat, beneath the spot that Zayn was positively _crushing_ with his teeth.

He pressed down and in, biting harder until bright-hot tears sprang into Louis’ eyes. He inhaled sharply when Zayn tightened his fist, gripping their cocks harder in his hand. Louis’ gasping sped up, his breath catching in behind his tongue.

Pressure built in his chest with the repetitive motions of Zayn’s fist and his teeth, pressing _in and in._ He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as warmth sank, leaden, into his lungs.

His anger melted away, _everything_ seeped away except the slick pressure on his cock and the pain on the flesh of his hip. There was nothing that lingered except the darkness behind his eyelids, the growing warmth surrounding his heart and the curling feeling in his toes.

Not to mention the feeling in his dick.

Within minutes, he came with a sharp cry, spilling over his own chest and a bit onto Zayn’s thumb.

“Babe,” Zayn whispered, removing his lips and sharp, angry teeth from Louis’ flesh. “Oh babe.” He continued to wank himself off, patting Louis’ spent cock with his other hand. “You’re all right. You’re golden.”

Louis inhaled deeply as Zayn came too, littering both their chests again. Their haggard breaths mingled as their come cooled—as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“You’re fine, babe. You’re good.” Zayn stroked Louis hair, making quick work of the knots at his wrists. “You’re great.” He planted a kiss at Louis’ jaw, then peppered kisses along his cheeks and nose. “You’re all right.”

“I know I am,” Louis said, voice a ragged whisper. “You needn’t coddle me.”

Zayn backed up, fingers scrabbling at the knots near Louis’ ankles. “I. Um.”

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry, I don’t need the niceties, babe.” He shoved gently against Zayn’s shoulders now that his hands were freed. “I’m fine.”

“Right.” Zayn finished undoing the ropes at Louis’ ankles and peered down at him, biting his lower lip. “Aftercare be damned. Lemme grab tissues, yeah.” But he didn’t move.

“Yeah, all right.”

He still thought Zayn might be sharp and dangerous, still felt the burn at his wrists and ankles. He still hurt all along his thighs and hips and chest. He hurt everywhere.

He liked it. He had never liked it before.

He hurt.

Louis hurt, and he bucked his hips upward, intending to meet some part of Zayn as he did so.

“Calm down, kit,” Zayn whispered, petting his hair.

“No.”

“I’m tired.”

“So stay over.”

And of course Zayn stayed the night, and of course he sucked three fresh bruise-bites into Louis’ chest come dawn. And of course they blew each other in the shower and flung each other into the marble walls and still avoided Louis’ mother. Maybe they weren’t careful.

Maybe Louis was never, ever careful.

Or maybe he was only _not careful_ when it didn’t matter.

***  
And maybe he wasn’t careful the next night, and maybe he pulled a bartender. And maybe the bartender asked for it.

He definitely yanked the bartender into a dirty cubicle and waited—waited until the bartender politely dropped to his knees and sucked Louis off, face upturned sweetly, asking for a handjob in return.

Louis returned his efforts with efficiency, drunk on his own self-importance, and also vodka. The coke didn’t hurt, he supposed, as he licked the come off his thumb and finger, the tanned lad before him tucking everything back into his trousers.

Louis thought he might have a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: musiclily
> 
> also I am SORRY


End file.
